


KHAMSIN

by SetteLupe



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, role-playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 22:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12691566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SetteLupe/pseuds/SetteLupe
Summary: In the twelfth century people believed in a lot of things: superstition and reality merged into a confused and twisted tangle.Sometimes it happened by pure and simple ignorance of most laws governing nature and its manifestations, sometimes because almost all people knew almost nothing of the world outside their small village so it was difficult to refute the stories coming from afar… not to mention that humans have always liked to believe in something; that is wonderful or gruesome does not make a difference: what matters is the thrill of emotion.Well, sometimes it happened because some people went around telling about corberries to which people ended up believing for the above reasons.Malìk knew it too well: he was one of them.





	KHAMSIN

KHAMSIN

* * *

 

 

 

In the twelfth century people believed in a lot of things: superstition and reality merged into a confused and twisted tangle.

 

Sometimes it happened by pure and simple ignorance of most laws governing nature and its manifestations, sometimes because almost all people knew almost nothing of the world outside their small village so it was difficult to refute the stories coming from afar… not to mention that humans have always liked to believe in something; that is wonderful or gruesome does not make a difference: what matters is the thrill of emotion.

 

Well, sometimes it happened because some people went around telling about corberries to which people ended up believing for the above reasons.

 

Malìk knew it too well: he was one of them.

 

And he liked it: he found hilarious how people were willing to believe all sorts of bribes, if they were told in the right way and the right character.

 

However, this was not a mere pastime: because Rafiq of the Assassins of Jerusalem, one of Malìk's tasks was to handle the information coming in and out of the brotherhood so as to provide the best possible support to the missionary confreres. In particular, he had to make sure that the incoming news was as complete and reliable as possible, while the outgoing ones were a mixture of inaccuracies and total falsehoods, sufficiently misleading to confuse even the most fierce Templar hooliganism and quite disturbing to discourage the interest of curious and cuddly. The most effective way to spread this beneficial misinformation, he found, was to exploit popular rumors: they spread rapidly among the population and, consequently, even reached the ears of the Templars and their affiliates, holding them appropriately hung.

 

It was not easy to keep the rumors under control and in line with the needs of the Order, especially because in order to succeed, it was necessary to have the ability to take on different identities depending on the result you wanted to achieve, but he did it quite well: he officially did believing that he was a humble writer and bookseller, thus preserving his anonymity, was less officially known to be the most direct contact with the fearsome Assassin sect; only very few people, at last, knew that he was himself the mysterious and feared "Rafiq" of Jerusalem.

 

That afternoon, Malìk was at the shop that covered the bureau's activities, dividing his concentration among the customers to serve, elaborating a plan to replace the guards who had become too overbearing since the widespread news of the fall of the old Grand Master, and of being in a bad mood because of the khamsin that had begun to blow, carrying suffocating clouds of sand from the desert.

 

His bad mood grew even more intense when a bunch of soldiers came into the shop: their attitude was not the case for those looking for books or maps.

 

"We only lacked these" he grumbled, as the new arrivals shook the customers.

 

"Today the store closes in advance, bookseller" the captain snarled, closing the door abruptly.

 

Malìk swallowed up the poisonous words that had come to his lips: for these people he was only a cripple bookstore, and as such he had to behave. So he went around the counter and staged a humble and complacent protest: "But, captain, I do not understand ... what is the problem? I did not do anything wrong"

 

In response, the unswerving soldier pushed him drastically against the balustrade and grabbed him by the twig, twisting the fabric to block his breath.

 

"I say that we have found the right rat," he murmured threateningly: "I surely know that you are imprisoned with the Assassins, you crippled, and if I have to crush your mouse head to get to them, know that I have no problem doing it"

 

Malìk had to make an effort to remain in his play, giving up the jaw of that yokel: "You took the wrong person, I assure you" he exhaled, trying to look terrified and confused.

 

"Really? I saw you talking to Amir, and I also had a chat with him," said the captain, enjoying the surprise in the look of his victim. He took out a dagger from his belt and put the blade on his throat: "I know some guards get information to get out of trouble when the Angel of Death is in town. Now, you will arrange a meeting with the head of the sect to let me in. turn, otherwise ... ".

 

It was not necessary for the sentence to end: Malìk had however wondered. Not that the threat was touched him much, rather he was astonished at the way the events had taken. Did that man really want to become one of the Assassin's informants? Certainly the approach was not one of the finest, but an informer could be useful; in addition, Malìk had an idea of how to put him in line, and at the same time to tease one of those stories that so much fun to him and that so much grip on those dull minds. Where was Altaïr right now that he needed him?

 

At that moment a silvery flash came between his face and that of the captain of the drapple, followed by a dull thud; the two of them needed a few moments to realize that it was a knife, flung so hard to stick for a good half of its length in the door jamb next to it.

 

Malìk did not need to check to find out who had launched it: Altaïr, only an imbecile like him could steal a similar shot. Certainly his character had greatly improved in recent times, but in some respects it was always the usual donkey. Fortunately for Malìk, a donkey with a great purpose.

 

The grip on the collar of his tunic had loosened and he watched with pleasure the horror of the man's face in finding an Assassin perched on the edge of the mezzanine, where until a moment before there was nothing, staring at him with brilliant golden eyes from the depths of the hood.

 

"It has come out of nowhere ... It's a _Jinn_ " hissed the other guards, among themselves.

 

Malìk almost let out a laugh: that was exactly the story he was going to use that afternoon!

 

Not that it was a new tale: from a lot of time, voices were heard that not all Assassins belonged to the human world. However, it was the most suitable to remember those arrogant guards, and Altaïr at that moment was perfect for the part he would have to recite, with his hood lowered to his shadowy eyes and a linen scarf covering the lower half of face, worn to not breathe dust raised by khamsin while he was outdoors.

 

The only problem was that they had not had time to organize themselves before, so he could only hope that Altaïr would guess his intentions and hold the game.

 

Malìk cleared his voice, attracting the captain's attention: "In my opinion, it would be better to put the dagger away: I believe it disturbs him"

 

The man retreated, while his companions removed their weapons. _Small room and four people fighting, poor maps!_ mentally complained the rafiq, seeing Altaïr changing his position to prepare himself for a fight. Better hurry to act.

 

"Please keep calm, gentlemen" he said amicably "You do not have to use violence ... you could tell me right away that you had come to talk about business" he added with a smile as he pulled the dagger out of the jamb. Then, looking at the Assassin, he hit a couple of times the handle of the knife on the counter wood with a low whistle, the same as using many falconers to invite their birds to sit on their arm. The confusion of the guards for that strange behavior was as obvious and comical.

 

Altaïr, who understood the intentions of the confreres, dropped from the mezzanine and landed on the counter, then sat cross-legged waiting for orders.

 

 

"You see? He’s docile, and if you don’t do abrupt movements he will not attack" Malìk explained as if he were a trainer of animals. He approached Altaïr and pulled off the flap of the garment that covered the right boot to push the launch knife into the calf-tied sheath. Altaïr stood still, only lifting his knee slightly, apparently allowing him to reach the right holster, while in reality the movement hid the soldiers his left hand.

 

_I understand, I'm following you_. Signaled his fingers. _Do not overdo it_. They added after an instant.

 

"Do you know what I think, Captain?" then began the rafiq, changing the tone of the voice and abruptly abandoning the bookseller's character to fall into his new part "I think, more than a rat, you've grabbed a hornet's nest, and a big big one."

The guard swallowed but didn’t answer, suddenly realizing that if there was a "trapped mouse" in that room, wasn’t the bookseller: he recognized that kind of assassin. Three guards were too few to deal with him.

 

Malìk rejoiced to see how their roles had been overturned: "And I also believe that you have not really talked to Amir, though I'm sure you've seen us together. I'm sure why, if you really came up with its advice, he would have explained to you that I'm not the person most suited to the kind of approach you've just tried" he added, replacing the flap of Altaïr's tunic and stroking it as if had been the wing of his favorite hawk.

 

The swords aimed at the two Assassins rose up trembling. Malìk continued his speech, advancing to them without showing the slightest fear: "Not that I was offended, of course, I am an _honest_ and _respectful_ citizen" he explained, challenging the captain to contradict him: "I would never dare question the how to act as a lawyer ... but my friend there ... "

 

He had stopped a few inches from the tip of one of the swords. Altaïr stood up in the moment he realized that the weapon would not be lowered: calculated or not, the risk to which was exposing his friend was too high in his opinion.

 

"Sit down" Malìk ordered him when, following the commander's eyesight, he noticed the aggressive attitude of the Assassin.

 

Altaïr did not obey. _What the hell are you doing?_ Asked his eyes from beneath the rim of the hood. _It's dangerous._

"I said _sit down_ "

 

With a frustrated growl, this time the Assassin obeyed the order.

 

"I thought the Death Angels would only obey the Grand Master of the Assassins" the captain murmured.

 

"Yes, or to someone delegated by him, it still needs firm hand to keep them under control: they are formidable creatures, but sometimes it is difficult to reason with them ... with this in particular"

 

"So you are ..."

 

"A dear friend of Rafiq of Jerusalem" ended Malìk for him: "The Angels of Death have always fascinated me and, knowing this, he interceded with the new Grand Master to give me the loyalty of one of them as a reward for my . "

 

"Are you saying he belongs to you?"

 

"I am saying that he listens to me and protects me. It belongs only to the Order of the Assassins, I would be a fool to claim the property of such a creature"

 

"You talk about he as if it were an animal"

 

"Oh, captain, I do not think it’s appropriate to define him _animal_ ... but perhaps, maybe he is not exactly like us"

 

The Assassin grunted, obviously irritated by the way the conversation was taking.

 

"In what sense is he different? He is ... _human_ , right?" shouted one of the guards shyly.

 

"Of course he is, idiot! You will not really believe ..." the captain interrupted his lattice as Malìk turned to giggle and was investigating the Assassin as if he were thinking about the question.

 

"Well, he looks, right?" He then answered after a moment of reflection: "I must admit, however, that I have never thoroughly investigated. You see, I never ask questions that I'm not sure want to hear the answer" he added.

 

The pallor spreading in the faces of his interlocutors confirmed to Malìk that his play had the desired effect: "And no matter where or by whom, the important thing is that he is good where he is and , to assure it, I advise to put away the weapons: they make him nervous. Moreover, if we have to talk about business, they are useless "

 

Reluctantly, the guards refined the swords. Altaïr rested comfortably on the counter-top and stared at Malìk with an air of rebuke. _Later, we are going to have a long conversation_ , promised his gaze.

 

Malìk replied with a grinning smile and began to walk slowly around the room as he went on to explain to his guests the situation: "First of all, you must know that Rafiq is a private person, so I will be through for all the contacts with the Order. The game is very simple: information in exchange for other information "

 

"And the protection from the Angels?"

 

Malìk smiled with indulgence: "To protect you from them, you have to provide for yourself. I can tell you which places to avoid and when: it is more than enough. You know for sure that, if they are not disturbed, they are almost never dangerous"

 

The captain did not seem satisfied, but abstain from protesting.

 

"Talk to Amir ... and I mean, do it really" Malìk suggested with a wink: "Tell him that you have my approval, he will explain you a lot of tricks to avoid trouble"

 

"And I imagine that we will have to leave the Assassins undisturbed, later"

 

"The Assassins know that you must still do your duty, and they do not ask for privileges. Everyone knows what risks they are doing, doing what they are doing, and everyone must be ready to deal with the consequences ... you are d 'agreement, Captain?”

 

The man threw a hostile look at Altaïr and nodded.

 

"I'm curious: if you didn’t talk to Amir, how did you know who to ask?"

 

"I've seen him talk to you several times, and I noticed that he was never present when the Assassins made a big hit. So I realized there was some sort of agreement behind ... I don’t like this contract: it is too in your favor "

 

Malìk nodded in admiration for the captain's capability: "In favor of the Assassins, you mean" he then said "I am in the middle and I am a mediator"

 

"With an Angel of Death as a bodyguard?"

 

"I just accepted the gift of a friend. It's not my fault if no one else thought of giving me something"

 

The captain of the guards replied with a grunt disgruntled.

 

"And anyway I'm not dictating the rules. If you do not like the terms you know where the door is"

 

"Yes, and I also know that once I came out I would teared apart, along with my companions. How many other Assassins are there around here?"

 

Malìk chuckled "You are a perspicacious man, captain. What amazes me is that you did not have the foresight to think about this before you started the game"

 

"So now I cannot go back"

 

"Do you want it? My offer is more generous than it may seem"

 

"You have not yet asked for my name"

 

Malìk watched him carefully, taking time to reflect: this man had a certain potential, little morale, but a remarkable practical sense and some acuity, compared with the average of the guards. They were tempting features, but they made it even dangerous: "I will only care if you accept to play," he replied finally.

 

"It's not a game, it's reality"

 

"Nothing is real"

 

The commander ignored his last comment and turned his head to his men, uncertain about what to do. Malìk let him all the time to reason, leaning his back to the counter and exchanging a quick glance at Altaïr.

 

"What are the other rules?" the captain asked after a moment of reflection.

 

"None: everything is permitted" Malìk replied with a feral smile.

 

The man remained silent for a moment, then nodded dryly: "Then, let's play. I'm Faaroq"

 

"Well, Captain Faaroq, I'm happy with your decision. If the situation remains unchanged, there will be no areas in the city to be avoided for at least a week or two, after which, we may have to have another meeting. But I have to warn you that my friend will still need to stretch his legs; he’s usually active from midnight to noon. You are free to decide whether to go looking for him or not "

 

"The first tip is homage?"

 

Malìk chuckled: "No homage, Captain Faaroq: You have been very helpful to me today"

 

Faaroq blushed for a moment: he had guessed he was got tricked, somehow, but he didn’t know where the trap was "Have a nice day" he murmured leaving and walking distrusted beyond the Angel of Death.

 

Altaïr didn’t move, simply following them lazily with his gaze.

 

"Good day to you too" Malìk answered warmly, closing the door once the last of the guards came out.

 

Perhaps Captain Faaroq had a good idea to advise him to close earlier: it was a good idea to take some hours of freedom and, with the khamsin blowing violently, it was unlikely that they would present other customers that afternoon.

He sat down on the counter, while Altaïr was finally releasing the scarf: "So, what do you think?" He asked grimly.

 

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself with this story of misleading information... and that you have too much fun playng at _The Demon Lord_ , is not it time to change the script?" Muttered the other.

 

Malìk chuckled with the tongue in his teeth like a street brat: "Yes, at some point I feared to have pushed too far, I must admit, but apparently it worked wonderfully. Are they reliable? "

 

"If they didn’t, I would have let them go out? You're a reckless: you're going to put yourself in trouble telling the crabs of the latter's caliber, "Altaïr insisted, shaking his head.

 

"Hypocrite: You had fun like me, seeing those rednecks tremble like newborn calves. Otherwise, why would you play the game all the time? Also, speaking of reckleness, does it seem like a shot to try? You could have me blink an eye with that dagger. Could not you invent something else? "

 

Altaïr shrugged and crossed his arms on his chest: "I've managed in more difficult shots" he said, lifting his chin, then bowed his head to the side and looked at him "But if he bothers you so much, next time I stand still and hidden in waiting for orders: I just want to see how many of you can bark with the squashed trachea and a blade on the jug "

 

Altaïr had never particularly liked the part of the well-trained animal.

 

Malìk opened his mouth to answer, but immediately closed it again. "How much I hate you when you are right!" he muttered in the end, collecting his legs on the counter in an almost speculative position to his friend.

 

The other grinned, then threw a slight kick on the shin: "You called me _animal_ " he accused.

 

"Technically I didn’t call you animal" Malìk explained: "My words have been misguided: I never said that you was a beast, not a _jinn_ ... it is not my fault if those bifols are more superstitious than an old sailor"

 

" _Ifrit_ " insulted him, the other assassin "I also know the trick of talking to be misunderstood. It doesn’t change the result: now, those idiots will go to tell the whole city that I'm a daemon or who knows what else "Altaïr snapped:" You'd be fine to be accused of sorcery."

 

Malìk chuckled "But you weren’t the one who didn’t care about the opinions of others? Ever since you started paying attention? And this story is the most suitable, believe me: I did not randomly choose "

 

Altaïr leaned forward: "Meanwhile, Malìk is known as _the Lord of the Demons_ , while Altaïr as an animal! You commanded me to sit like I was a dog, and you even came to tell him that I was not like you "accused him by placing a finger in the center of his chest, a boom in his voice.

 

Malìk scratched the hand of his friend with an abrupt gesture: "We are susceptible today, hmm? And then it is true that you are not like us: it is useless to deny it"he said maliciously.

 

If there was one thing that Malìk liked even more than foolish the yahoos, it was undoubtedly tedious Altaïr. And he was also damn skillful in doing so, judging how the Assassin seemed swollen with anger as he sang a " _Excuse me_?" who would have fled away even a true jinn.

 

"Yes, well, even omitting the matter of the game you can do with your eyes and of which, as I said to those guys, I want to know as little as possible, from the looks of those people I can say that in this room we were all of a lineage purely Semitic except one: you are hybridized with the Jafets "

 

"Hey!"

 

"Of course, it's not a secret that you're twice a bastard: mockery and illegitimate*"

 

"That was a cheap shot!"

 

"No" corrected Malìk with a frown, coming out of the counter: "A cheap shot is force you to give me a hand to pick up the carpets and pillows from the garden before they are ruined by the sand reminding you that in fact a hand is exactly what you're a debtor" he added with a smart smile.

 

The fact that he had already come down from the counter and approached the door to the inner garden allowed Malìk the few, precious moments that allowed him to save himself from Altaïr's first assault. He did not really hope to escape him: Altaïr had been faster than he even had two arms, but he could at least make the feat harder. After all, some bruise was a price that you had to resign (and in any case acceptable) if you chose as your favorite pastime, that of provoking the Great Master.

 

However, the Assassin stopped his pursuit almost immediately, stopping at the base of the wall that Malìk had just climbed out of the roof opening.

 

The Rafiq leaned over the edge of the open lattice, shaking in the djellaba to protect himself from the ever-stronger wind and the pungent sand that it carried. Why did Altaïr not follow him? The astute smirk on his lips as he watched him with his golden eyes did not promise anything good.

 

"Well? Everything here? "He still teased:" A little bit of wind and the great Altaïr renounces his assault? "

 

The other giggled "Do you know Malìk? You are right: in this yard there are a lot of things that would ruin if covered with sand and dust "

 

Maliki came up with an elegant jump and stopped in front of his friend, holding his eyes wide open and staring at him.

 

The assassin gave him a cushion without abandoning his seraphic attitude: "You asked for help, Maliki, did not you say that I had to deal alone, so get busy," he advised softly.

 

"Are you saying that anger has already passed?" She asked incredulously.

 

"I do not know what you're talking about, brother," he said gently. In Rafiq's eyes it was a little disturbing: he was preparing a vengeance. A terrible revenge, he was certain.

 

The trouble with Altaïr was that, during all the trials he had faced in the previous year, he had learned many things; one of them was the habit of pondering and preparing each action, and another was the patience to wait for the right time to implement its aims and ... well, it would have been a stupid thing to fall back into the old mistakes. Sooner or later Malìk would stop wondering about him as a wild fox; hitting him now, charging like an angry bull, would have earned him no victory over the smart Rafiq.

 

He was not a vengeful person, too, he said to himself as he slid himself gently from the confused and suspicious friend; not at least.

 

No, it was not revenge: it was justice.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

 

(*) - From what I have read, the name Ibn-La'Ahad means Soon of None, a foundling. Since at that time (as far as I know) among the Middle Eastern populations it was not customary to use the surname by preferring to identify individuals by indicating the name of the father, the place of birth or a peculiar feature of the person, Altaïr it may not have simply inherited this epithet. This seems to contradict what is said in the websites about the Assassin's Creed saga, where the name of the father of Altaïr (Umar) and his mother (Maud) is reported, specifying that Altaïr's father was himself a very skilled Master Assassin and well-known among the Assassins.

I also read that Maud was a Christian, so I thought that the name Ibn-La'Ahad could be an impersonation of an illegitimate son, rather than an orphan or a foundling: it’s unlikely that Umar and Maud could have married a regular marriage in as far as belonging to two different religions (for what I knew at the time it was necessary that one of the two spouses converts to the other's faith in order to marry), and Umar couldn’t recognize a child born of an unlawful union.

Without a father who recognized him officially, in my opinion, Altaïr could not become Ibn-Umar and people began to call him Ibn-La'Ahad.


End file.
